


The Gorgeous Creature That Stands Before Me

by chochowilliams



Series: Uniting As One [2]
Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Drama, Family, Fantasy, Jealousy, Language, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Romance, Slash, Threats, m-preg, sword play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chochowilliams/pseuds/chochowilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a training session, a young nobleman becomes infatuated with Yuri. Wolfram comes to his fiancé’s honor whilst overhearing the young nobleman’s inappropriate comments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gorgeous Creature That Stands Before Me

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during chapter 3 after Wolfram finds out he’s pregnant, but before the disastrous scene with the seamstress where Yuri and Wolfram end up eloping. And since I know nothing about swordplay, you’ll have to excuse the crude description at the end.

**The Great Demon Kingdom**

The Blood Pledge Castle Royal Gardens, started by the previous ruler, Demon Queen Cecilie Von Spitzweg, were in full bloom. The fragrance from the red sourin katabiras, white beautiful Wolframs, yellow secretive Gwendals, red Celi’s sighs, blue Conrart standing talls and black mighty Yuris--her newest creation--mingled sweetly and rode the gentle breeze through open windows and trickled down the long, twisting corridors of Blood Pledge Castle. The sweet aroma infected all in its path. It effectively eradicated the lingering memories of the unseasonably cold and miserable rainy season that had brought with it a mysterious plaque that could have been far more destructive if not for the “infinite wisdom” of the Great Sage.

The inhabitants of the Great Demon Kingdom had another reason to celebrate the arrival of spring. It was announced just that morning that the twenty-seventh Demon King Yuri Shibuya and his Intended Lord Wolfram Von Bielefelt, after three long years of being engaged, were finally to be wed. The Royal Wedding was to take place on the summer solstice.

“It’s about time,” Lord Von Rochefort was overheard saying when he received the invite.

This sentiment was expressed by many whom had begun to grow suspicious of the relationship between the Demon King and the Royal Consort; for it was unprecedented for a Royal Engagement to last for as long as His Majesty’s has to Lord Von Bielefelt, so naturally people started talking.

Speculations had run rampant.

There had been rumors that their engagement was nothing more than a ruse, a ploy to cover an illicit affair. Relationships between someone of his Royal Majesty’s standing and someone who is neither his Courtier, Royal Consort or--in the case of Wolfram should Yuri and he marry--the Royal Prince that is not of a platonic nature was considered a heinous, unthinkable and deplorable act that brought shame and dishonor to not only both parties involved but their families as well. Something so immoral was just not done, especially after Waldemar Von Körtig was caught in such a relationship. He ended up losing his seat among the Aristocrats as well as his title and land, which had been given to the Von Körtig family by the Great One himself as a gift for their loyalty to the crown. The reputation of the Von Körtig name--now just Körtig--was still muddled centuries later.

There are ways around this ancient taboo, such as announcing an engagement, but there was a down side to this: people would soon demand a wedding, but when a year…two years…three years pass without so much as a hint of a rumor of pending nuptials, people start to talk. They begin to question why. What possible reason could there be for the Royal Couple to remain unwed?

The longer the citizens of the Great Demon Kingdom went without hearing any announcements of a Royal wedding, the more damage Wolfram suffered to his reputation--for the Demon King was considered the physical embodiment of the Great One and as such, above the pettiness that possessed Man. Since the problem so obviously did not lay with His Majesty, it then therefore had to rest around the Royal Consort and as the center of His Majesty’s suffering, instead of being the Royal Consort, which was considered a prestigious honor and a position of tremendous power, Wolfram was fast becoming the royal consort, a position of shame and disgrace.

But finally it was happening! Their beloved Demon King, the 27th Maou Yuri Shibuya and his fiancé Lord Wolfram Von Bielefelt were to wed in a few short months. Any excuse to celebrate and shake off the last vestiges of what had turned out to be such a horrendously depressing winter was most welcome.

Salutations poured in from nobles and royalty from all over. Sondergard. Missinigh. Schildkraut. Conansia Svelera. Francia. Caloria. Hildeyard. The Havaloog region. Voltaire. Christ. Karbelnikoff. Spitzweg. Wincott. Grantz. Radford. Gyllenhaal. Bielefelt. Rochefort and beyond. Congratulations even arrived from nations that the young Demon King hadn’t even heard of: such as España, Hispaniola, which had apparently once been part of España before a long and bloody civil war tore the nation apart, as well as from Escocia, and Lixae.

This news, of course, greatly pleased Günter Von Christ, Aide and tutor to the Demon King. It was such an honor to be of use to His Majesty, even if that use was just as a lowly teacher.

As for the Demon King, Yuri only looked forward to these lessons every day because it was an ideal opportunity to catch up on some much-needed rest.

Being King was not a walk through the park by any means of the imagination. Sometimes he wondered just what he’d been thinking when he agreed to become the Demon King, but then he would remember that boy from the human village who had nearly lost his life trying to save him three years ago. Then there was his own daughter Greta, and Hube and Nicola and their son El, Alford and everybody else he’d had the fortune--or the misfortune as the case may be--to meet since he was flushed into this world. The positives definitely out weighed the negatives. Oh, yes. As much as he may complain, in the end, it was worth the sleepless nights.

Until they caught up to him anyway.

It was not as if he set out to use those endless hours of lessons to catch up on his sleep, but as enthusiastic as Günter was, the sound of his voice droning on and on and on and on and on…It was inevitable. There would be a greater success rate of trying to stop dawn from arriving each morning than there would be in keeping him awake.

Despite how tedious and monotonous these daily sessions were, Yuri was well aware of how important they were. Besides, at least they gave him an excuse to ignore the mountain high piles of paperwork that cluttered his desk, at least for a few hours.

As these lessons were held in the library, this was where Wolfram knew he would find his wimp of a fiancé, or as he preferred to call him, “His Wimpiness”, but as he turned the corner, he missed a step in his confident stride. A frown marred an otherwise perfect façade. Instead of the usual two Black Knights standing guard outside of the library, there was only one. Wolfram scowled as he recognized the lone soldier. It was Greta’s personal escort.

“Where’s the stupid wimp gone now?” he muttered angrily under his breath.

He had interrupted his rigid schedule in order to inform Yuri that the young Von Gyllenhaal heir had arrived to personally give them his congratulations on their plans to finally wed. What he had not expected was for a simple errand to turn into a--what was it Yuri called it?--wild goose hunt.

The soldier, noticing his arrival, stood at attention immediately.

Ignoring him, Wolfram burst into the library. It was as he’d thought. The wimp was nowhere in sight. Günter was standing at the desk, his back to the windows, sobbing. Unfazed by the apparent absence of her father and the wails emanating from Günter, Greta was sitting at the table reading a book twice her size.

Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe Yuri was just lost somewhere among the stacks. Possible. As Wolfram himself had gotten lost within the library numerous times, he couldn’t exactly fault Yuri for doing the same…Well, he could and he would actually. He’d just conveniently forget to mention to His Wimpiness that he’d done the same. Hey, it was one thing to get lost, another to be caught being lost.

“Greta,” he called out to his daughter.

Günter continued to bellow as if someone had relayed the news that a family member had passed away. An over-dramatic man he was.

Greta did not answer immediately. Her large mahogany eyes continued to scan the text before her. Before long, she sat back, closing the book and grinned at her father. “Hey Wolfram!”

“Where’s Yuri?” he asked, scanning the visible aisles for his wayward fiancé. He tried to sound as unconcerned as possible, casual-like.

“Sword practice with Conrart,” she replied innocently.

Instantaneously, Wolfram froze. Standing ramrod straight and rigid as a pole, an emerald eye developed a sudden tick and his hand, roughened by years of handling swords, gripped the hilt of his sword secured at his side so tightly that the engraved designs on the hilt bit into the tender flesh of his palm, but he paid the minor discomfort little notice. Otherwise, he appeared unaffected by the news, at least outwardly. Inwardly, he was raging.

How dare he.

How dare he?

How dare he?!

Filthy…

…Two-timing…

…No good…

…Wimp!

How dare Yuri do this to him?! Moreover, with his own brother! Not only where they finally to be wed in a few months time, but he carrying the damned wimps children.

Bastard!

Cheater!

Wimp!

Without a word, Wolfram spun on his heel and marched out of the library.

Greta sighed after her father. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

The soldier His Majesty had assigned and trusted to guard and keep safe the Royal Princess was immediately on edge when the Royal Consort stormed passed. Lord Wolfram was infamous for his explosive temper, especially when directed towards His Majesty--he really was the only one who could get away with such treasonous behavior. The absolute silence was more terrifying than being on the front lines during the Great War. He was not sure what it was His Majesty was supposed to have done this time, but he wished the King luck.

 

* * *

 

Augustus Von Gyllenhaal was well aware that his father already sent, via courier, the family’s formal assurance that they would be attending the wedding ceremony of His Majesty the 27th Demon King to the Royal Consort Lord Wolfram Von Bielefelt, but Augustus felt it would be more prudent, as well as beneficial, to offer his congratulations in person. After all, it was not every day that one was granted an audience with the King, even if that someone happened to be part of the Aristocracy. His Majesty, unlike past monarchs, did not play favorites. Besides, this was his chance to meet the infamous half-breed--half-blood?--and judge for himself whether the rumors about him were true.

As the young heir followed a brown clad solider through Blood Pledge Castle, which was a buzz with activity (he‘d nearly been trampled several times), he couldn’t help noticing how much time it was taking to get to the inner courtyard where apparently the King was in the midst of sword training.

It wasn’t until he passed by the portrait of His Majesty the sixteenth Demon King (or was it the eighteenth? Thirteenth?) King Lutrius in full battle armor--minus his helmet, which was under his arm--astride a gallant white steed and holding the Great Demon Kingdom Banner, which was a flutter in the breeze, for what seemed like the third time did Augustus realize that he was getting the run around. It was either that, a strong sense of déjà vu or there were multiple copies of this same painting throughout the castle, which was just as ridiculous as the image captured in the painting.

There was not a single detail in the painting that was accurate. Lutrius had barely been five feet tall and not the seven depicted in the painting, had refused to ride his chestnut mare until the day he “stepped down” from the throne because he was scared to death of horses and never once stepped foot on the battlefield. Born with the proverbial golden spoon in his mouth, Lutrius had been a spoiled, pompous brat. He’d been a complete and utter disaster as king.

“Excuse me,” he called out to the soldier.

“My Lord?”

“Are you sure you know where we are going?” Because that certainly did not seem to be the case. Granted, Blood Pledge Castle was actually much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. It had been built not so much for comfort or convenience, but for security reasons. After all, the tension between demons and humans began to rise at about the same time as the construction of the castle.

“Of course, Sir.”

“Then why is this the forth time that we’ve passed this particular painting?” Augustus inquired when they, yet again, passed Lutrius the Brave.

What exactly was His Majesty playing at? Did he truly believe that none whom pass through the halls of Blood Pledge would notice? It was an insult. Is that what His Majesty was aiming for? Discord? A civil war perhaps? And just as relations with the humans were finally looking better than it has in millennia. What happened to His Majesty’s infamous naivety? Wasn’t His Majesty supposed to have the innate ability to trust everyone inexplicably? To believe in someone despite his past? To offer those who have been snubbed by the rest a helping hand up? Or was he oblivious to the activities taking place right under his nose? It was possible, especially when a young and inexperienced child barely out of diapers was forced into taking the throne and had domineering handlers. It would not be the first time such a situation occurred.

Momentarily losing his footing, the soldier flushed and fumbled with a response.

Augustus smirked. He had a feeling none before had dared point out the obvious. Hopefully this bluntness would get him into His Majesty’s good graces. After all, if rumor was to be believed, it was one of the catalysts that brought together His Majesty and Lord Wolfram.

“It-It’s uh just…well…uhm…”

“Yes?” Augustus drawled, hitching an eyebrow.

The soldier, who could not be much older than he was, seemed to gather himself. “This way sir.”

As soon as they turned a corner, they were buffeted by a breeze that had been made stronger by the hallway acting as a wind tunnel of sorts. Ahead of them, Augustus could see a light at the end of the hallway. The brightness of the late morning sunshine was nearly blinding compared to the stark dimness of the castle. Grunting and the clanging of metal could be heard.

Finally, Augustus thought as he was ushered through the archway and into what appeared to be an open-air hallway overlooking a courtyard below. Immediately, he noticed the infamous Black Knights lining the exterior of the castle as well as various servants who had stopped to watch the training session. No matter. They were of no importance. The man he was more interested in was right down there.

Augustus moaned in appreciation as he stepped up to the marble railing. His midnight teal eyes drank in the sight before him. “Oh my.”

The King, scantily clad in white jogging pants with a double blue stripe down the side that hung low on his hips and hugged his firm ass, was standing with the feared demon sword in hand before Lord Conrart. A matching jacket and a white T-shirt had been tossed carelessly aside. Panting, his muscled chest heaving, his breathing exaggerated, His Majesty‘s long raven hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, the tresses trailing down between his shoulder blades. Several loose strands were plastered to his face with sweat. Rippling muscles blanketed with sweat glistened under the sun. A droplet of sweat rolled down the side of the King’s face.

This was definitely no mere child.

In that instant, Augustus was sure of one thing: he did not care about whether or not the rumors were true or whether or not technically his King was affianced. This gorgeous creature standing before him had to be his.

A trill of pleasure shot through him as he imagined being topped by all that long, hard, lean muscle.

Now he knew what had caused the sudden and unexpected transformation in Little Lord Brat. With a specimen in your bed such as Yuri Shibuya, you would be a fool not to conform.

Oh, yes, Augustus was suddenly very glad he’d decided to offer his congratulations in person. Very glad indeed.

 

* * *

 

Wolfram had grown up within Blood Pledge Castle so he knew he way around the long, twisting, maze-like corridors. If he were to be struck blind, it would not faze or handicap his ability to make his way through the castle in the slightest…well, at least he’d get lost less often than Yuri still did. Now there was a king for you, getting lost in his own castle.

It was because he’d been born and grew up in Blood Pledge that he knew that sometimes a dead end was not a dead end. There were not many who knew about these shortcuts--if the cobwebs and dust were anything to go by--so it took less than five minutes to get from the library to the inner courtyard, which would normally take twice as long, depending on the person and how fast he walked.

He stepped out onto the walk overlooking the courtyard below where his fiancé was nodding to whatever it was that Conrart was telling him with a much more serious expression on his face then there’d ever been in the first two years of his reign. The two Black Knights nearest Wolfram snapped to attention at his arrival. Wolfram stepped up to the railing and peered below.

“Dear Shinou,” he was able to somehow breathe.

Startled by the sight that greeted him, Wolfram made a noise that was caught somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Emerald eyes could not take in the sight of a panting, half-undressed Yuri drenched in sweat fast enough. All too well did he remember this very image from the night prior, minus the workout pants of course. A delicious shiver coursed through him. There was a tingling in his groin. Because of how pale he naturally was, the blush that colored his cheeks was more prominent. It was so fierce, it was making his head spin.

As he ogled his fiancé, which he had every right to do, Wolfram’s reasons for seeking him out fled his mind. His petty jealousies, the arrival of the Von Gyllenhaal heir, it all vanished in the wake of his growing arousal, which was clearly evident by the tenting of the front of his pants.

“Wow”, was all he could think as he drank in the sight of the father of his unborn children.

Wolfram’s eyes smoldered with lust. His lips parted and his tongue darted out. It ran along his lower lips, catching the drool at the corners of his mouth.

Then the air about Yuri and Conrart changed. Both men were suddenly at attention, staring intently at one another. Wolfram breathed sharply in through his nose, tensing, his hands tightening and then unclenching around the railing, as both men snapped a salute to the other by bringing their swords, blade end up, parallel to their faces and then brought them back down to their sides in equally sharp movements. They immediately jumped into their opening positions.

Yuri was standing with his legs a shoulder width apart holding Morgif’s new black leather hilt between knees slightly bent. His feet were firmly planted on the ground and his upper body was slightly tilted forward. As far as stances went, Wolfram had never been a fan of Yuri’s, but the damned wimp refused to change it.

Conrart was standing in a similar stance, but because of his experience as well as the difference in height and weight, it appeared to be completely different.

Wolfram held his breath as with a cry, Yuri and Conrart charged towards the other.

They locked swords. The clang of metal filled the air. To Wolfram, it was like watching a tug of war only instead of rope it was with swords. It was a battle of wills--a power struggle that could go either way. Wolfram was amazed at how even it appeared to be. He never thought he would see the day that his little big brother, not that he would ever call him that to his face, would struggle to win a sword fight, even if it was a mere practice fight, especially against His Wimpiness who had no more than three years sword training. Yuri was holding his own. It was amazing.

Yuri’s sweat slickened muscles glistened under the warm rays of the sun and rippled as he used what little strength he had left to keep not only his stance, but to also stay upright. It was not easy. Their earlier bout had taken a lot out of him. It had been a long time since he’d felt this fatigued. Conrart on the other hand looked as alert as ever. He looked like he could pull the horns off a bull, as the saying went.

It was so not fair.

The strength of his godfather was immense. Yuri felt himself being pushed back. The sound of his sneakers scrapping the dirt sounded unnaturally loud. His hands slid on the sweat slickened hilt of his sword.

He had to end this. Fast.

Wolfram gasped as Conrart pushed Yuri backwards. “Come on wimp,” he whispered. “Better not lose in front of your children.”

Using his weight, Yuri pressed Morgif forward into Conrart’s sword. As predicted, Conrart pushed right back. Yuri absorbed the momentum and used it to entangle himself from their stalemate. He jumped backwards.

Yuri charged Conrart. He swung Morgif to the left only for it to be blocked easily by Conrart. He swung at Conrart’s left side, which was his right. Once again it was blocked, but only nearly. Yuri smirked. Long ago, Conrart had learned to play up his strengths and strengthen his weaknesses, but a weak spot is always a weak spot no matter how fortified.

This time, Yuri swung straight on. Conrart blocked this easily, or not so easily given that their locked swords were a hairsbreadth from his head. He was beginning to sweat. Whether from the beating he was receiving from the sun, the intense workout or from something else all together, he was not sure.

It was astonishing. Each time he and Yuri trained together, his godson seemed to become better and better. While it had taken decades for Conrart to reach the level he was at currently, it was taking Yuri a fraction of that time, mere years. Soon, Yuri would surpass him. When that happened, there would be nothing more for him to teach Yuri. Conrart would be the first to agree with his admirers that he was a great swordsman, but he was by far a master of the trade. If that honor befell anyone, it would have to be Lord Griesela Gegenhuber. If Yuri wanted to continue his sword training, and if he continued to excel as he has, Conrart had a feeling he would have to bow out as Yuri’s teacher and call in Hube. Of course, both Yuri as well as Hube would have to sign off on it, but it would be beneficial to both of them.

Conrart slackened his arms. As he knew he would, Yuri took this as a sign Conrart was letting down his guard, possibly from exhaustion, and used the opportunity to try to force his hand, but Conrart used the momentum of Yuri’s ascension to push Yuri back.

Wolfram gasped in fright, his hands flying automatically to his still flat belly, as Conrart then immediately swung his sword out at Yuri who danced backwards out of the path. The sword had narrowly missed his bare midriff.

Yuri was off balance. Conrart seized the moment. He started swinging his sword wildly at Yuri, much the same way Yuri had to him moments earlier. He kept the momentum and pace up, not giving Yuri the chance to fight back.

Yuri could barely block the attacks. They were coming too fast. He was quickly losing ground.

Conrart swung out, but this time, Yuri stood his ground. He ducked under the path of the blade--it was so close that he felt the back draft--and rolled passed Conrart. Not giving Yuri time to even get to his feet, Conrart pivoted and swung his sword out in a giant arc. Crouching, Yuri blocked his godfather’s sword by thrusting his sword over and behind his head.

Wolfram gasped. Was this really Yuri? His Yuri? When had he gotten so good?

Once again, Yuri and Conrart’s swords locked.

Yuri pushed Conrart back and pivoted while remaining in his crouched position. He brought his sword around and swung at Conrart’s feet. Conrart jumped to avoid the blade. Yuri used the opportunity to get to feet. He swung Morgif out. Yet again, the clanging of metal resounded and echoed through the courtyard as their swords locked.

Out of the shadows stepped Yozak. Wolfram noticed him immediately. With his sword in hand, the spy and part-time bodyguard to the King silently crept up behind Yuri. Wolfram had to bite his tongue to keep from calling out a warning. Yuri gave no indication he realized a third party was about to join the party. Though, Wolfram saw the moment Conrart did. Wolfram held his breath. His heart was beating a wicked tempo in his chest. He hugged his arms around his belly.

Yozak was now standing directly behind Yuri. He raised his sword and brought it down. At the last second, Yuri ducked the blade and stepped aside while knocking Conrart’s sword from his hand. He grabbed it out of the air with his free hand and held it Yozak’s throat while he held Morgif to Conrart’s.

Wolfram was left speechless by the outcome.

The staff that had stopped to watch the fight let out a wave of euphoric ovation after a long silent pause. Wolfram had a feeling he was not the only one left stunned by the display showcased by their King.

Yozak and Conrart held up their hands in surrender. The applause grew louder at this. Several people whistled.

“Congratulations Your Majesty!” were the calls from all around him.

Panting heavily and sweating profusely, Yuri waved feebly and inclined his head slightly in thanks to his audience. It was the most he could do. His muscles were trembling uncontrollably with fatigue. He could hardly see straight. He handed Conrart back his sword as the crowd began to thin out. The Black Knights remained at their posts. The three men then started to converse quietly.

“That was fantastic Your Majesty,” Conrart applauded his godson.

Yuri had to bite his lip to keep back the automatic reply of, “It’s Yuri Godfather.” He’d learned long ago that some formalities just were. Besides, it was not as if he had the energy to actually form the words anyway.

“Pretty good Your Majesty,” Yozak echoed his captain.

Up on the balcony, Wolfram was contemplating making a sarcastic comment--if they’d been alone it would have been something lascivious, but sadly all that would have to wait until they were--when another voice on his left spoke.

“Well. Well. His Majesty’s sword skills have greatly improved.” There was a lewd purr. “Oh, yes indeed. I wonder, just what other skills has His Majesty improved upon?”

Wolfram tensed as these words were spoken in a soft bedroom voice. With narrowed eyes, his hand spasmed around the hilt of his sword.

Those stationed near the Royal Consort gulped in fear. Like at a tennis match, their gazes batted back and forth between Wolfram and the other young man. Uncertainty hung in the air. The actions of an angry Wolfram was well known around the castle, as was the actions of a jealous Wolfram. The actions of an angry and jealous Wolfram was infamous, but what not only a pregnant but also an angry Wolfram would do was, as yet, still unknown. The inhabitants of Blood Pledge Castle had hoped to keep it that way. Unfortunately, their hopes were about to be dashed.

As far as pregnant demons went, some lost all their powers while with child. They would regain their powers slowly after the birth of the baby. Then there were the others like Wolfram whose powers went berserk when suffering from the influence of extreme emotions.

Those few who had lingered behind fast evacuated the scene. Unfortunately, the Black Knights were not part of the crowd. They had to remain at their posts at all times.

Wolfram turned ever so slowly towards the audacious speaker. It had to be a slow, if somewhat exaggerated, movement because if he moved any faster, he would end up slicing the head off the poor soul who had dared speak such treacherous slander about the Demon King in front of his Intended, his pregnant Intended.

He hadn’t even known he’d pulled his sword out of its sheath until he felt it hit his leg as he turned.

The two Black Knights closest to the scene of the upcoming crime glanced nervously at each other. They wondered if they should inform the King.

The owner of the lewd mouth was standing, and practically drooling over, the railing not more than twenty feet from where Wolfram had watched the mock battle. How he had not realized he was not alone until now was definitely going to be blamed on Yuri. Maybe if he had a fiancé who was less of a hunk, these type of situations would be less common.

The man shifted his weight and in the process brought his face into view. Recognition flashed through Wolfram followed by an explosion of anger. The Von Gyllenhaal heir. Lord Augustus Von Gyllenhaal. He’d met the man only once before years ago at a ball his mother, Lady Celi, had thrown for one thing or another; his mother rarely had a reason for throwing lavish gatherings. Meeting Augustus at one such get-together had been more than enough. His senior by a mere twenty years, Augustus was rude, callous, and overindulged by just about everyone. He was so spoiled it was a wonder he didn’t smell.

Wolfram’s eyes narrowed as he took in what appeared to be a black silk ribbon holding Augustus’s bright yellow locks at the nape of his neck.

Then Wolfram noticed the way the man was looking at Yuri, his Yuri, in a way too familiar manner. His fisted hands burst into flames. Anger surged through him. How dare this man! He was going to tear him apart!

Vaguely, Wolfram noted the white tunic belted at the waist with a black leather belt, the tight white pants tucked into knee-high black boots and a white cravat secured at the throat between the front lapels of the young Lord Von Gyllenhaal’s tunic. More black! Arrogant pompous halfwit! Augustus had absolutely no business wearing black. It did not matter that he was of noble birth and part of the Aristocracy. Of course, given who he was, nobody bothered to correct him or to set him straight. Well that was about to change.

Moving faster than the eye could see, Wolfram charged Augustus, much like Yuri had Conrart during their sword fight moments ago. He grabbed the young heir by his fluffy white cravat, hauled him off his feet, and tossed him none too gently against the castle wall. He had the pleasure of hearing Augustus squeal like a little girl and then had the additional pleasure of watching the color drain out of Augustus’s face.

Peeling his lips back into an ugly grin, Wolfram pressed his sword into the tender flesh of Augustus’s neck. He had to be careful not to press too hard. Didn’t want to hurt the young heir--too badly at least. It was unfortunate. He would give anything to be able to castrate the fool. Once upon a time that had been the punishment for making such comments about the King.

“Lord Wolfram,” Augustus squeaked.

“You’d better watch your treacherous tongue Lord Von Gyllenhaal,” Wolfram hissed.

Augustus gulped. While his face was still whiter than his outfit, he gathered himself enough to ask, “If I don’t?” Logically, he knew there was nothing to fear from the Royal Consort. Fiancé to the King or not, Lord Wolfram was not above the law. If he touched so much as a hair on his head, His Majesty would be forced to bring his Intended up on charges and of course, Augustus would be there to comfort the poor, grieving Demon King in his time of need.

Wolfram leaned forward and hissed between clenched teeth, “Otherwise I’ll rip it out.”

Despite his self-assurance that the current Royal Consort would not dare do anything to him for fear of losing his position, Augustus felt a shiver of fear race down his spine. After all, Lord Wolfram’s anger was legendary. “You wouldn’t. You can’t,” he continued. “His Majesty is famous for his benevolence. He would never allow any harm to befall anyone and especially not at the hands of you.” This last was said with a sneer.

Instead of being angry, Wolfram was highly amused by this statement. It was a common misconception. One they had quickly grown tired of correcting, so instead, they played it up. He had not been more glad of that fact than he was at the moment. He smirked. “Oh? You think so do you?”

“I know so,” Augustus corrected, though he was wary of the cat that ate the canary expression on the young Consort’s face.

Wolfram laughed. It was a terrible sound. It sent shivers up Augustus’s spine and not the ones he had been savoring seconds ago. “You are right about one thing. Yuri is benevolent. Quite the passivist. Very admirable in fact. Doesn’t raise a hand unless it is absolutely necessary.” He was quite proud of his fiancé.

“That just proves my point. You cannot harm me.”

The smirk grew. “You obviously weren’t listening. I said _Yuri_ doesn’t raise a hand. _Yuri_ is the passivist. I said nothing about me.”

The first sign of fear returned. “But…No,” Augustus argued. “His Majesty…he is benevolent. You said it yourself. He allows no harm to be committed to anybody no matter what that person has done. If you touch me it will be you who-”

Wolfram threw back his head and howled with laughter.

Augustus’s mouth went dry. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip. His dark eyes, wide with fear, darted around helplessly, trying to seek out help, but those who were closest were conveniently glancing elsewhere. “You-”

“Yuri forgives me _anything_ ,” Wolfram admitted in confidence. “I could run you through right here and now and he will do _nothing_.”

“The guards-”

“Will do nothing. They’ll claim you simply tripped over your own two feet and landed on your sword.” As ridiculous as that explanation sounded, something very similar had happened once. Wolfram still could not wrap his mind around how it had actually happened and he’d been one of the witnesses.

What little color had returned to Augustus’s face vanished. “Liar.”

Wolfram shook his head. This poor, sad little man just did not seem to get it. “Yuri doesn’t raise a hand because it is not necessary.” He leaned forward and whispered, “That’s what he has me for.”

Smelling of fear, Augustus struggled out of Wolfram’s grip and fled down the hall and out of sight.

Satisfied, Wolfram chuckled. It was an evil sound. Nobody messed with his family.

“Oi! Wolfram! Hey!”

When Wolfram turned towards the sound of Yuri’s voice, the smirk was gone. The evil gleam had vanished from his eyes and his sword had been returned to its scabbard. He ran his hands over his blue uniform, straightening any unsightly wrinkles, pausing briefly over his belly, before moving on to fluff his white cravat and making sure his cameo wasn’t crooked. He fingered his blond locks back into place. Turning on his heel with military precision, Wolfram plastered a smile on his face and striding to the railing, peered over.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Yuri called up from the courtyard. “What’s up?”

Wolfram shrugged. He noticed that Yozak and Conrart had vanished. Morgif had been returned to its new black sheath and Yuri had tossed back on the white shirt and jogging jacket he’d shrugged off earlier. There was a white towel draped around his neck. “Just wondering if you have time to go horseback riding with me this afternoon.”

Yuri’s black obsidian eyes brightened. “Sure! Just give me a minute to wash up.”

With a playful gleam in his emerald eyes and lecherous smirk on his face, Wolfram asked, “Want some company?”

An answering expression crossed Yuri‘s face. “Always.”

 

**…The End...**


End file.
